


Visitor

by mishhe



Category: MapleStory
Genre: Angst Warning, Gen, KIND OF I GUESS, well at least he doesn't die? might be better off dead anyways, wol wol is the magic shojo doki doki character of the heroes don't deny it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:03:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mishhe/pseuds/mishhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every crescent moon, a traveler always visits their little village. All they remember is the melody that someone taught them long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visitor

 

               “A visitor!”

 

               “A stranger! Oh, look, a stranger!”

               “He looks weird. Where are his ears?”

               “No tail, no tail either! What is he? Poor thing!”

 

               He remembered it all so vividly - the bright, bright colors of Grandis, the chirping voices of little birds in the background, the sweet smell of pounded ricecakes, echoing whispers of the spirits – and, the noisy little children that always followed behind him.

 

               “Mister, won’t you play with us?”

               “Yeah! Please, teach us something!”

 

               And he did – he smiled bitterly, sitting comfortably under a shady tree, the villagers of Vulpes wagging their bushy tails looked at him with eyes gleaming with anticipation, as he started to recite a song he was taught when he was still a young boy back in Maple world:

 

               “ _Lit by a paper lantern, tracing the tiles upon the ground,_

_As we mumble nothings, the sparrow that comes home waits for no one._

_Fingers tightly wrapped around the row, the fisher slowly returns back ashore;_

_Spring showers go by, silk shoes soaked as the flute resounds._

_Fire crackers cackle under the pale silver crescent,_

_Spinning drums wakes sleeping paths._

_The dim candlelight dyed the neighbor’s white walls red,_

_And lit her wet cheeks in the rain._

_Row and row, after fifteen days you can see the old, old bridge;_

_Looking round, sweetly calling ‘hello, hello’_

_Talking and talking, mouths filled with ricecakes that are never enough_

_As their legs hang over the clear, clear lakes”_

\----------------------------------------

 

 

               A few months passed since Eun Wol left the friendly village. He bid his goodbyes, and left without turning back. The long-haired brunet left without a trace.

              

               Even traces that were meant to stay.

              

               “ _Row and row, after fifteen days you can see the old, old bridge;_

_Laughing and laughing, tightly hugging each other_

_Hopping and hopping, as they tried to reach for the stars_

_Stars that continued to blink at them happily”_

“A visitor!”

 

               “He doesn't look friendly… I think he’s dangerous!”

 

               “Yeah! We should hide, quickly!”

 

               The singing was abruptly stopped at the yelps of the playing children around the old, old tree, tiny fingers pointing at a black figure far from their favorite tree. The figure, donning a travelling hat and black clothing, was walking towards them.

They scurried quickly into their little huts and shut the door tightly behind them, pulling down rags as curtains and avoided contact from the mysterious traveler. 

               The figure didn't retreat at the unfriendly behavior – almost like he had gotten used to it – and instead walked around the town like it were his own.

               He took off his hat, sat under the old tree, and took out an old battered bamboo flute from one of his travelling bags. His face was pale – purple eyes, brown bangs sitting above his eyelids, and overall looking like a tired explorer. The man then raised the bamboo flute to his lips and started to play.

              

               The same song the children were singing.

 

               As the soothing melody repeats and repeats itself under the breath of the traveller, the curious children peeked from their doors and windows, wanting to know the identity of the flutist that played their favorite song – _their_ song that everyone knew about, but didn’t remember who taught them. It was a song that everyone knew.

              

               Then they timidly left their homes, and gathered around the long-haired traveller. He didn’t look at them, wholly focused on his fingers and his breath upon the bamboo, the beautiful melody continued to echo throughout the quiet village. They let down their guard, slowly but surely, as their tails started to wag to the familiar song and ears straightened to listen better – the traveller’s fingers danced repeatedly upon the thin bamboo flute, aged and overused, and it went on until someone started to sing along.

              

               “ _Lit by a paper lantern, tracing the tiles upon the ground,_

_As we mumble nothings, the sparrow that comes home waits for no one._

_Fingers tightly wrapped around the row, the fisher slowly returns back ashore;_

_Spring showers go by, silk shoes soaked as the flute resounds._

_Slowly treading upon the wet road,_

_Walls telling stories of everyone’s memories together._

_The wind chime that continued to sing on the third window,_

_Watching countless days retreating to nights._

_Row and row, after fifteen days you can see the old, old bridge;_

_Looking round, sweetly calling ‘hello, hello’_

_Talking and talking, mouths filled with ricecakes that are never enough_

_As their legs hang over the clear, clear lakes”_

 

              

               The sun sank into the misty lake far away, and the sparrows living in the old tree came home, flying above everyone as to signal the bestowing night and it’s time to go home to sleep. The man finally stopped playing, resting his flute on his lap that was occupied by a few sleeping heads, ears twitching in pleasure. The children that did not join them afar went home, discarding their toys and saying goodbyes. A pale silver crescent emerged from behind the clouds, and the man tidied himself and replaced his travelling hat upon his head, rousing the children from their slumber.

               “Are you leaving soon, mister?”

               “Will you come back soon, mister?”

               “How did you know our song, mister?”

               “What’s your name, mister?”

               The man smiled bitterly, his purple eyes hidden under the large travelling hat, and patted each of their heads gently.

               “Eun Wol. You can call me… Eun Wol.”

              And he turned around, heading for the exit, as the children waved him goodnight and goodbye.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i decided to migrate here because fanfiction.net hates me. cries a river  
> wolwol is a sad existence. rather than 'its better if he never was created by nexon', i feel more of a 'please exist already' towards the poor soul.  
> the song in this is actually 外婆桥 by yousa, so if you understand chinese, please check it out. thank you for reading!


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